


The Only Truth

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Family Dynamics, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be miserable.’</p>
<p>‘No, you’re not.’</p>
<p>‘You can’t stop me. I’m now, once again, your senpai.’</p>
<p>Hajime could practically hear the sigh and chuckled to himself as he pictured Oikawa’s overly dramatic eye-roll. </p>
<p>’40 days older does not make you my senpai, Iwa-chan.’ </p>
<p>‘It’s my birthday, Oikawa, I’m going to make you call me senpai all day.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Ace of Seijou, Iwaizumi Hajime. I adore him.

_'Friendship at first sight, like love at first sight, is said to be the only truth.'_

~Herman Melville

Hajime divides his birthdays into two categories. There are the ones before his brothers were born, where he’d have his parent’s full attention, ice cream, cake and a treat out on his special day. And then the ones after the twins are born, where the day out has to be adjusted – although the ice cream’s still there.

Despite his parents real worry that he’ll resent this fact (because they’re just as rambunctious as their older brother) Hajime has always preferred the birthdays after they were born and doesn’t yearn for the days he was an only child.

It’s not because of Koji and Saburo, although he gets on with them as well as he can with annoying babies eight years younger who take up too much of his mum’s time, but because just after his eighth birthday, Hajime meets the boy who will change his life.

It sounds dramatic.

But without Tooru in his world, Hajime’s not sure what he would have become.

He wouldn’t have got so into volleyball for one thing. Maybe he’d have pursued athletics instead, or baseball like his dad had suggested. But volleyball was the sport Tooru became enchanted with, and Hajime quickly sunk into his obsession.

Not that it was bad, at first, to be so in its thrall because volleyball led him to Kitigawa Daiichi with Oikawa, and then the scholarship (part academic, part sports) to study at Aobajousai.

But now, as he wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, Hajime is seized by doubt.

His brothers are ten. It’s not hard spending time with them these days, especially as both love volleyball. Saburo, in particular, has a talent for the game, declaring he’s going to be the ace. Koji is less sure, deciding first he’ll be a Setter, then wondering if Libero would be better. The eldest twin, he’s shorter than his brother, but then Saburo looks as if he’ll be a head taller than Hajime.

There’s a knock at his door, tentative because it’s still a little early, but Hajime shouts ‘come in’ and waits for them all to burst through the door, not piled high with presents, but with smiles and cards and maybe a gift or two in their hands.

It’s his dad, a smile on his face, but also a little sadness, too. Or resignation rather. He brings Hajime a cup of tea, sets it on his bedside table, then sits heavily on the bed.

“I’ve been called in to work,” he says, which explains the suit. “And your mum’s been tossing and turning all night with a fever. Sorry.”

“You want me to get them into school?” he guesses.

“Mmm, and if you can pick them up after practise.” His dad sighs. “I’m sorry, I know it’s your birthday, and you probably have plans, and I will try my hardest to get off early.”

He thinks of the afternoon planned. Not much, just training, the cafe after with the team, and finally the cinema with Oikawa, Mattsun and Maki.  Oikawa’s treating him; it’s the one time Hajime lets that happen, because he knows what it means to Oikawa, who’s always wanted to be the most generous of friends, but also understands that Hajime’s pride won’t let him accept handouts.

Now he’ll have to bring his brothers along. Or they could do the cafe another day.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Ruffling his hair, rubbing it so hard Hajime thinks his spikes will flatten, his dad hands over an envelope, and a small box. “Happy Birthday, Hajime. Number one son!”

It’s not much, but he knows what it is. His parents can’t spend a lot, their money swept into the black hole of everyday care of three boys, two still growing at an alarming rate, and Hajime wearing through his shoes and trainers, although he tries to play in them for as long as possible.

He opens the box and grins at the set of keys lying on a cushion of velvet.

“Insurance documents,” his dad declares, handing him another envelope. “Some proper lessons to start you off, then practise with me.” He grins suddenly. “Not with your mother. I’d like you both back in one piece.”

Hajime grins back. His dad is mild; his mum fiery like him, and they strike too many sparks off each other rubbing along in the house, let alone in the confines of a car.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m sorry it’s not more,” he mutters.

And Hajime looks away, hating the dispirited look in his dad’s eyes, because really he doesn’t care. Okay, there are times he wishes he could buy whatever he wanted, that he could go into a clothes shop like Tooru and not have to check the price tag. But it’s a brief twinge and nothing like the ache he feels at other things he knows he’ll never possess.

He can hear something downstairs, the crash of pans, or maybe it’s a bowl falling to the floor, but nothing shatters, and his dad doesn’t seem to be bothered.

“They’re making you breakfast,” he says, the smile returning to his face. “Try to eat some of it, will you? And if you can’t, then ...” he delves into his pocket and pulls out a handful of change and a note, “Buy yourself something on the way.”

Hajime lies in bed for a little while longer, working out how he’ll need to change his plans, working around the twins the way he had to when they were very little. And then his phone beeps.

**‘Happy Birthday, Iwa-chan!!!’**

**‘I’m eighteen, stop calling me that.’** he counters, adding, **‘Assikawa!!!’**

**‘Grumpy already? Can’t you let up for one day?’**

**‘It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be miserable.’**

**‘No, you’re not.’**

**‘You can’t stop me. I’m now, once again, your senpai.’**

Hajime could practically hear the sigh and chuckled to himself as he pictured Oikawa’s overly dramatic eye-roll.

**’40 days older does not make you my senpai, Iwa-chan.’**

**‘It’s my birthday, Oikawa, I’m going to make you call me senpai all day.’**

**‘Not going to happen, Iwa-chan. Do you want to meet up before school? We can grab a coffee, or something? My treat, obviously, birthday boy.’**

**‘Can’t. Sorry, Mum’s ill so I’m taking the Chibis into school.’**

There’s no immediate reply and hearing another crash, Hajime gets up and pads along to the kitchen.

His brothers aren’t identical, but they’re very alike. Oikawa, at his most irritating, calls them ‘Iwa-chan-chans’ but adds the proviso that they’re much cuter because they don’t scowl. They’re both noisy, and boisterous, but they’ve inherited their dad’s temperament, and being twins they’ve always had each other to joke around with.  Saburo’s hair lies flatter than Hajime’s ever did, and Koji’s skinnier because he never wants to stay still, but sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the three of them when photographs are compared. Sometimes the only difference is that the twins are always together, but Hajime had no one by his side.

Until Tooru.

“Uh, I’m happy enough with cereal, guys,” he calls, wincing when Koji cracks an egg and half of it slops on the floor.

“Niichan!” they both yell, even their words in tandem as they greet him with huge grins. “Happy Birthday.”

“Happy _eighteenth_ birthday,” Koji qualifies.

“Mum’s not feeling well, so I’m taking you to school, all right? We’ll have to get the bus.”

“Yeah, we know,” Saburo replies. “Shall we make her an omelette, too?”

Watching the smoke arise from the pan, Hajime tries not to grimace. “Uh, let her sleep, and maybe turn that down before the smoke alarm goes off.”

He sits down to a burnt omelette and some left over rice, a little after seven. There are speckled bits in his food that might be the mushrooms Saburo swears they are, but look more like the non-stick lining of the pan, yet he shovels a forkful into his mouth, taking care not to inhale so as to shut off half his tasting senses.

(It’s a trick he’s learnt from Oikawa, who was taught it by his uncle, a diplomat who has to eat many different foods around the world.

“Sheep’s eyeball – UGHH!”

“If you imagine it’s a lychee, and stop your breath, you can swallow whole and not think about what you’re eating, Tooru-chan.”)

The omelette crunches, and despite his best attempt, Hajime spits it out his mouth.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Uh ... too hot,” he mutters and gulps down some water to assist the white lie.

Both sets of eyes are on him, Koji’s bottom lip is drooping, and Saburo is frowning, so he knows he has to get through this, manage all of the omelette (or whatever it is because it looks more like scrambled yellow sludge) because otherwise they’ll know they’ve done a rotten job.

He’s saved by the doorbell. Saburo rushes to answer, and Koji’s so distracted by the thought that the post might have brought gifts, that Hajime seizes his chance and stuffs half the omelette sludge in his dressing gown pocket.

“Tooru-niichan!”

“Good morning, Sabu-chan. You’re up early.”

“We’re making breakfast for Hajime,” he replies and leads him into the kitchen,

“Oikawa, what the fu-uh- heck are you doing here?” Hajime demands.

“Wishing you a Happy Birthday in person,” he says, and smiles – quite genuinely – at Koji who’s poking his own omelette sludge thing. “As delicious as that looks, Koji-chan, I have bought some croissants from the new patisserie and they should be eaten fresh, so ... shall we have them instead?”

“You can thank me later,” he whispers to Hajime, when he’s shooed the boys away to wash their hands.

“Hey, it’s what every good kouhai should do for their senpai’s birthday,” Hajime replies and nudges out a chair. “Do you want tea or coffee? I can at least do that.”

Oikawa’s not only brought them croissants, but Danish pastries, milk pan and a small jar of raspberry jam.  They sit, the four of them, listening to the radio, both twins licking the custard off their pastries, secure in the knowledge that no one’s going to complain about their table manners.

“I’ll save one for your mother, shall I?” Oikawa asks, peering into the bag. “A croissant and jam?”

Hajime swallows his last mouthful of bread and nods. “Mm, good idea, I’ll take it to her. Koji, get another cup and pour her some tea, then get ready for school, all right?”

 

His mum’s room is dark when he enters, and for a moment, he thinks she’s asleep, and hastily starts to back away, but she spots him and gestures for him to sit down.

“Happy Birthday,” she rasps, and pats his hand. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies. “I made tea and here’s a croissant.”

“A croissant?” Her eyes, though bleary, widen. “Ah, did Tooru bring them?”

“Yeah, how did you guess?”

“Who else would be visiting you this early in the morning, Hajime-chan,” she says drily. “He’s a good friend, you do know that, don’t you?”

He’s aware he’s flushing, and is acutely pleased she can’t see that in this light, but his voice is a little strained when he replies. “He has his moments, but most of the time he’s a dick.”

She slaps his arm. “Watch your language.”

 

When he reappears, Oikawa’s in their small lounge, tying Saburo’s tie for him. Koji’s collected their bento boxes from the fridge, lining them up at the door before pulling on his shoes.

“Have you done your teeth?” he asks both of them.

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I supervised,” Oikawa says then smirks at Hajime. “Hadn’t you better get dressed? That dressing gown is very fetching, but you should put a shirt on.”

Scowling, because he can’t swear while his brothers are here, Hajime shoves his hands in his pockets and stomps out of the room. His hand wraps around the sludgy egg mixture he’d hidden earlier and he shudders looking at it.

_I really should thank him,_ he thinks and licks his lips, collecting the last crumb from the croissant he’d shared with his mum.

“C’mon, guys, let’s go!” he calls out, ten minutes later after he’s rushed at his shower and dragged on his clothes. His shirt is sticking to his still damp skin and his tie isn’t tied, but if they leave now, they’ll catch the early bus and that means he can walk into Seijou and not have to worry about a connection.

“We’re ready, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies. He’s by the door, his bag over his shoulder, and his hands on the twin’s shoulders. It looks odd, for some reason, as if Oikawa’s the older brother and not Hajime, and for a fleeting moment he feels resentful.

“You don’t have to come,” he mutters.

“Might as well now I’m here. I’ll be far too early for school and Mattsun’s got the key for the gym,” Oikawa replies. “We have time if you want to dry your hair. And wipe your face, there’s toothpaste on your lips.”

“I’m fine,” he says and scrubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, let’s go.”

After shouting a goodbye to their mum, the twins scamper down the corridor and towards the lift, which, mercifully, is working for once. Hajime watches them, and is reminded of the times Oikawa used to stay over when they were at elementary school together.

“I haven’t asked you what you what your present was,” Oikawa says when the lift door closes. “You’ve stopped scowling though, so I’m guessing you’re pleased.”

“Driving lessons. You’re going to be begging me for lifts, Oikawa.”

“Not if I pass first.”

“Pfft, I have a forty day head start on you.”

“I’ll make that up in no time.”

“No chance,” Hajime retorts. He’s about to add that his dad’s going to take him out for practise, that he’s planning on taking his test at the end of Summer, but he stops because Oikawa’s father is constantly abroad, and he doubts his mum will take him out. Oikawa’s practise will have to be booked and paid for, not slotted in whenever there’s a free moment.

“I want to learn to drive!” Koji says, tugging on Hajime’s sleeve.

“You can’t, you’re too little,” Oikawa says and crouches down, whispering (but loud enough for Hajime to hear) “Your brother’s going to need a booster cushion to see over the steering wheel as it is!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Language!” Oikawa yelps, when Hajime whacks him.

 

The bus is crowded, so Hajime gets his brothers to share one, while he stands over them his hand resting on the back of their seat as he braces himself against the bus’s movement. Across the aisle, Oikawa holds onto a strap, glancing with interest at the other passengers.

The girls.

And they’re staring back, not quite able to believe their eyes, because, after the Inter-Highs,  Oikawa is still something of a minor celebrity (very minor, Maki’s quick to point out. So minor no one remembers your name, Mattsun agrees. But girls remember the face, trying to place him).

One of them is smoothing down her skirt, another is licking her lips, and Hajime follows their gaze, even though he knows exactly what they can see, and what they’re attracted to. Even in school uniform, Oikawa is imposing. Not scarily so, he has his smile on, the one he uses when he knows he’s being observed. The one that never quite reaches his eyes.  He starts to whistle, something tuneless, ultra casual, adding to his air of nonchalance.  And Hajime wills himself to look away, to concentrate on his brothers and not on Oikawa’s tremulous lips, because he knows what the girls are wondering.

If he stays there. If there’s a distance between them, Hajime thinks he can just about cope. The bus driver has other ideas, coming to an abrupt halt when he overshoots a stop, sending Hajime careening back into Oikawa, who catches him.

“Steady,” he says, and his hand drifts to Hajime’s waist, setting him straight.  “That girl over there.”

“Huh?”

“No, don’t look at her. The one with the pink ribbon. That’s Hani. She sent me a confession last week and I’m tempted to ask her out. Pretty, don’t you think?”

“If I’m not allowed to look at her, how can I tell?” Hajime snaps.

“She might have a friend,” Oikawa continues. “We could double date.”

“Fuck off!”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drawls, his voice a little too loud now, drawing the attention of those close by. “It’s your birthday. _Eighteen._ ”

The emphasis is clear, he’s legal. And he wonders not for the first or second, but more like the hundredth time just what Oikawa would do, if he told him the truth.

_All this would be gone. That’s ten years, near enough, smashed because I can’t get over this stupid...crappy ... adolescent crush that should have died once I turned sixteen._

“Too late,” Oikawa says.

“What?”

“This is our stop, isn’t it?

“Oh ... yeah... right. Koji, Saburo, come on. Uh, if you get off at the third stop down, there’s another bus stop and the Seijou bus stops there. You’ll make it easily.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Oikawa decides. He collects Koji’s bento box from under the seat where he’s left it, and with a last flashy smile and a wink somewhere in Hani’s direction, follows Hajime off the bus.

It’s easier out here. Easier without the confines of the bus, the giggling girls, and Oikawa’s obvious interest.

“Do you remember my ninth birthday?” he asks, trying to distract his thoughts.

Oikawa pauses, a small frown on his brow. “Was that when we fed the Chibis chocolate cake?”

“ _You_ fed them the cake. I said you shouldn’t,” Hajime protests.

“Aww, it was mean not to give them any.”

“It wasn’t you Saburo threw up on. He was sick all night.”

Oikawa laughs  and they watch Hajime’s brothers tearing up the road. “It doesn’t seem to have done him any harm.” And then he links his hand into the crook of Hajime’s arm and tugs him close. He stares into his eyes, looking sincere for once, and a breath hitches in Hajime’s throat because he has no idea what Oikawa’s about to say, all he’s capable of thinking is that he’s close, far too close, so what if ...

Oikawa coughs. “Do you like Hani? Is that the problem? Because if you do, then I won’t ask her out.”

Hajime exhales slowly, hoping this will quell the nausea mounting in his guts.

“No,” he says at last, “I don’t like her. Ask her out if you want.”

“Good. I won’t today though, birthday boy,” he says and smiles properly as he bends his mouth closer to Hajime’s ear. “Today’s just about you, Iwa-chan... _senpai_.”

***

 

On the morning of his nineteenth birthday, Hajime wakes a long time before the sun and lies there, staring up at the ceiling.  There’s too much distance now, as the weeks have passed, but still he checks his phone, willing a message to flash across the screen, because even though it’s early, if Oikawa wanted to, he’d call.

But these days he divides his birthdays into three categories: before Tooru, after Tooru, and ... without Tooru.


End file.
